Cuixtli didn't look up as I approached, but when my skin brushed a little too close to him, the magic of my protections hissed like a snake about to strike, and Cuixtli shook his head, annoyed. His eyes slowly focused on me. "Priest."
"I have this privilege, yes."
"Why are you here?" Cuixtli unfolded his lanky body, and stood, looking up at the sky. The Fifth Sun had set, and only a glimmer of His light remained in the world; in the courtyard, servants moved to light up the braziers, filling the air with the scent of smoke. "Why are any of you here?"
I shrugged. "We're trying to help you. Find out what's going on."
His smile was pitying. "You help yourself, priest. I – or the others for that matter – have no interest in solving mysteries."
Of course not – to one who would be with the Fifth Sun soon, honoured as a god, why should any of the Fifth World matter? "I'm not sure," I said, slowly. "Something is wrong in this courtyard, You might not be safe here."
"Do Mexica not respect those who offer their lives?"
"I don't know." As Teomitl had said, they were the worthiest men – the ones selfless and brave enough to give their lives for the continuation of the Fifth World. And yet – yet they were captured foreigners, not from Tenochtitlan, not even from Tlatelolco. Many would see them as nothing more than tools, faceless sacrifices, living witnesses to the greatness and glory of the Mexica Empire. "The Duality curse me, I don't know. Why were they here, Cuixtli?"
His face was contemplative. "The official and the courtesan?" He pursed his lips. "Much for the same reason, I should imagine."
"What, to gather Zoquitl's things?"
"The official obsessively searched every corner of this courtyard for something he wouldn't name. But I think he was checking spells."
Spells. Spells to do what? "What do you mean?" I asked, as a fist of ice tightened around my heart.
"You are High Priest, are you not? One of the three who determine the destiny of your Empire, of your Alliance."
If only. "Perhaps."
"Then you should see it." He rose, fluid and silent, almost inhuman, like a bird gliding through the air – and before I could stop him he had laid his hand on mine, at the level of the scars from my blood offerings. When he touched me, they pulsed, and my skin crinkled and reddened like copper in the fire. But there was no pain. Only a distant hiss in my ears, and then the sense of the world falling away from me, as I stood high above the earth, held by some impossibly distant star, except I hadn't moved, I was still standing in the courtyard, still looking at the adobe walls with their rich frescoes, the gods shifting and turning until even I could no longer recognise them – their coloured faces merging with one another's, the rich backgrounds running like raindrops until the walls were once more blank, leaving nothing but a couple of glyphs, stark red against the paleness of the adobe.
A pyramid temple, with flames coming out of its shrine; a slave's wooden collar and paper clothes; a heart struck in four bleeding pieces…
May your reign not last: may the cities you hold fall one after the other. May everything you start turn against you, wither into dust, into filth. May you be left without faces or hearts, thrown in the mud with the god's shackles weighing you down…
And it all shone green, the green of algae, of jade – the same light that filled Teomitl's eyes from corner to corner when he got angry.
Jade Skirt's magic.
My hand hadn't left the cane; but I held it so tight my fingers hurt. "How long has that been in the courtyard?"
Cuixtli shrugged. "I don't know."
"But you could see it."
"No." He smiled. "I can see you, priest. I can see the way the magic pushes against you, looking for another way in. It's touched you before, hasn't it?"
The plague. The night of fever, the squirming bodies pressed against mine – the pain like nails scraping corn from my belly. "I'm not entirely sure I see what you mean." What was I doing, taking advice from a foreign warrior – one of our sworn enemies?
No. I was being ridiculous. That he was a warrior or a foreigner had ceased to matter: days before his sacrifice, he stood above us, below us – closer to the world of the gods than any priest or sorcerer.
I walked, slowly, painfully to the walls, ran my hands on them – felt the magic deep within, quivering with anger and rage, like waves in a stormy lake – felt it shiver at my touch as though it recognised me – like a jaguar scenting a wounded prey. "And you think they were here for the spells."
Cuixtli didn't answer for a while. "The official was clearly looking for them, though they didn't affect him as badly as they did you."
Spells of rage and anger, to unseat the Mexica Empire – to unseat Tizoc-tzin. Who hated us enough for this?
Xiloxoch, or Yayauhqui. I didn't think Itamatl had had enough rage in him for this.
"And the courtesan?" Cuixtli had disapproved of Xiloxoch.
"I don't know. She might just be what she seems, picking up Zoquitl's things."
"But–?" I asked, hearing the scepticism in his voice.
Cuixtli shrugged. "She brims with magic, too – and she's far too curious."
I nodded. "Do you think she has something to do with the spell?"
Cuixtli's hands pointed, briefly, towards the wall. "I don't know. Whoever drew this is angry. They want justice."
Justice for what? For the Empire? For Eptli's transgression? The Duality take me, I had even fewer answers than before.
SIXTEEN
The Gates of the Fifth World
On the way out of the palace, I met Yayauhqui, the Tlatelolcan merchant. He was at the head of a group of similarly-clad men, carrying heavy baskets bulging with clothes.
"Acatl-tzin, what a surprise."
I wasn't altogether sure it was a coincidence; I was uncomfortably reminded of Nezahual-tzin's warnings about the Tlatelolcans. "What are you doing here?"
Yayauhqui shrugged. "Paying tribute."
"I didn't know you did that."
"Ordinarily, no. But our governor has had… an accident."
"What kind of accident?"
Yayauhqui gestured at the palace. "The same kind of incident you have within, I'd guess. He's very ill."
That didn't seem to fit in with the Tlatelolcan plot – unless they were punishing the governor for collaborating with the Mexica? "You know more about this than you're telling us."
Yayauhqui looked surprised. "No. Why would I?"
"I'm told you were far more than an ordinary warrior of Tlatelolco."
Yayauhqui's face didn't move, save for a slight tightening around the eyes – it was uncanny to see the amount of control he could exert on his own emotions; or, rather, the effort it took him to display any strong feeling. "What if I was?"